FOR THE RECORD: all names of people who are not myself (and possibly even myself) have been changed. Just so you know, cause I will be mentioning people. Anyway continue on...
Life was good. And then I went to school. Kindergarten was fine. Kindergarten was also School 1. In fact nothing important happened in Kindergarten so we are skipping it. Grade one was the beginning of School 2. School 2 wasn't so fun. I had 'friends' in the trailer park that I lived in that were friends with me when we were at home (read: parents around) and not at school. I was picked on a lot. I was (am) a slow runner, I cried easily. I was somewhat sheltered. I was a gullible. And I was a goody-goody. You know that person in school who knew ALL the answers? Who tattled if you misbehaved? Who could apparently do know good in the eyes of any teacher - or your parents? Yeah that was me. I wouldn't have been easier to pick on if you had painted a large red target on me.
I became a loner very quickly as you could probably guess. I wasn't allowed to do sports because I had had asthma since birth and my mom was very over-protective of me - even running wasn't her favourite thing for me to do. So I didn't really have friends there. I did Brownies (Girl Guides) with the girls in my trailer park because my mom made me. However I read. I read a lot. Which meant I could escape into books and not talk to people. Seriously I was a seven year old loner. How sad.
Grade three (still in School 2) something amazing happened. I was allowed to take dance class. I took Jazz. That became my life for all of grade three (and most of grade four). Books and dance and school (even though I was picked on, I loved school. I loved learning) were my life. It was how I coped with home. See my parents had this unfortunate habit of screaming at each other. Frequently. So frequently that I'm sure even time got headaches from them.
At the end of the summer between grade's three and four I turned nine (funny how every year you get a year older huh? okay maybe not) and three days later my parents split up. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! :D So two days after starting grade four my mom moved out and took me with her. Cue School 3. I saw my Dad every other weekend. That was hard for me since I am very much (extremely much) a daddy's girl. On his weekends he would take me see a movie (if there was any good children's ones playing) and we would go to Sunday School. We went to Sunday School because that was something me and my dad would do that my mom would never do so it was 'our thing.' Grade four also had the teacher that hated children, and mom meeting, dating (and breaking up with) a man via internet (she never actually met HIM in person). After breaking up with him, she met someone else on line (Dean).
Because of all this drama trauma I danced. Ballet, Jazz (twice a week), Musical Theatre, and (I believe this was what it was I can't remember) Contemporary. Four out of five school nights a week I was at dance. I loved to dance. If I had been able to (not knowing what comes later of course) chart out the course of my life I would have had me dancing.
Before I go onto explain the end of grade four, I know your probably thinking, "Look Hollie, I thought this is supposed to be about God and what He has done for you. This is just life drabble. The closest you've come to mentioning Him is going to Sunday School with your Dad." Let me explain, God wasn't a part of my life yet, and since He wasn't, I couldn't really mention much about Him.
HOWEVER, looking back if I had stayed in Fort St. John taking dance class four nights a week, visiting my Dad every other weekend - where would I be? Looking back to the "friends" I had (some of whom I have on facebook now) its easy to see the downfall. I would have continued to dance, I might have even regained friendships, learned how to make new ones (sounds horrible I know) and then I would have entered and finished high school. There I would have probably started drinking and partying, having multiple boyfriends - I could even have been a mother by now (I'm almost twenty). Not exactly how I would want my life to go.
But God did not keep me in Fort St. John. No he had other plans for me.
Mom met Dean. On the internet. She fell in love. Slight problem. Dean lived in Ontario, we were in BC. Solution? Move to Ontario. Obviously. So with two months left in the school year, my mom packed us up (leaving most of our stuff behind) to go live with a man she had never met in person before. So began School 4. Which we will cover next time. I promise God will start showing up during that time.
Thank you for baring with me as a drabble on about my life. I keep thinking of things that are going on now that I just want to share, but sometimes you need the back story before you can get the now story. Cause the now story wouldn't be here without the back story.
Anyway, I should be stopping this now (gotta go to sleep. Seriously need to stop doing this to myself)
Good time to you all.
Hollie.
Apr 22, 2011
Apr 10, 2011
Spiritual Heritage
So how to begin this? Words help. Could you imagine a post where no one posted anything? And it was just blank? It would kinda defeat the the purpose. Also I guess a good place to start would be the beginning.
So my beginnings start in the small(ish) town of Abbotsford. My parents had a marriage that was doomed from the start - my dad was a Mennonite by heritage, and my mom was a catholic for the free ticket to purgatory baptism promised. (So it was a menno and a catholic - neither of whom believed in God). Pretty much everyone on my dad's side is a firm believer in God. And basically nobody on my moms side knows about God. So really that is my spiritual heritage wrapped in a nice shinny bow - Mennonite, Catholic, and Atheist. Fantastic. (Forgive me if I seem a little cynical. I'm kinda tired.)
So anyways, I was born into a spiritual power struggle. My Oma and Opa (grandma and grandpa in German) obviously thought I should go to church, and would bring me to VBS's (Vacation Bible Schools) put on by various churches, or bring me to their church themselves. My Grandma and Grandpa didn't care. And while neither really believed in God both my mom and my dad decided I should go to at least Sunday School. My dad thought I should go to a Mennonite church, my mom said Catholic. My dad however compromised and took me to a First Alliance church. Mom never came. (I promise there is a point to this later on in my life.) I loved going to Sunday School, and VBS was fun. But church was boring. So boring. I usually could fall asleep (without even trying).
So as a little kid, I never thought God wasn't real. He just wasn't important. I grew up closer to my mom's side of the family. What I truly learned of God was, He controlled the weather. Or rather parts of it. Thunder was caused by God moving furniture in Heaven. Rain was caused by angels leaving the tap on, and lightening was angels swinging off of chandeliers. The tooth fairy came whenever you lost a tooth. And you went to Heaven if you were good. The classification of good, of course, was the same good that makes Santa bring you presents every December. I was on a fast track to atheism.
(Reading back I realized I forgot a few things. I shall add them now if you do or don't mind)
So like I said, I started off in Abbotsford. We (my parents and myself) moved to a town right outside of there. Then we moved up to Sickanee (if you know where that is or how to spell it, please let me know cause I sure don't) which is away from my dads side of the family and towards my moms. In Sickanee (pronounced sick-ah-knee) we lived with my Grandma and Grandpa. We then moved to the northern town of Fort St. John. By the time we moved to there I was five. Now if you think that is a lot of moving for a little girl just wait until I get older.
I think I shall end this here for now. And get onto what happens here later. Goodnight. Or good day (if your reading this in the middle of the day). Good time anyway.
Hollie
So my beginnings start in the small(ish) town of Abbotsford. My parents had a marriage that was doomed from the start - my dad was a Mennonite by heritage, and my mom was a catholic for the free ticket to purgatory baptism promised. (So it was a menno and a catholic - neither of whom believed in God). Pretty much everyone on my dad's side is a firm believer in God. And basically nobody on my moms side knows about God. So really that is my spiritual heritage wrapped in a nice shinny bow - Mennonite, Catholic, and Atheist. Fantastic. (Forgive me if I seem a little cynical. I'm kinda tired.)
So anyways, I was born into a spiritual power struggle. My Oma and Opa (grandma and grandpa in German) obviously thought I should go to church, and would bring me to VBS's (Vacation Bible Schools) put on by various churches, or bring me to their church themselves. My Grandma and Grandpa didn't care. And while neither really believed in God both my mom and my dad decided I should go to at least Sunday School. My dad thought I should go to a Mennonite church, my mom said Catholic. My dad however compromised and took me to a First Alliance church. Mom never came. (I promise there is a point to this later on in my life.) I loved going to Sunday School, and VBS was fun. But church was boring. So boring. I usually could fall asleep (without even trying).
So as a little kid, I never thought God wasn't real. He just wasn't important. I grew up closer to my mom's side of the family. What I truly learned of God was, He controlled the weather. Or rather parts of it. Thunder was caused by God moving furniture in Heaven. Rain was caused by angels leaving the tap on, and lightening was angels swinging off of chandeliers. The tooth fairy came whenever you lost a tooth. And you went to Heaven if you were good. The classification of good, of course, was the same good that makes Santa bring you presents every December. I was on a fast track to atheism.
(Reading back I realized I forgot a few things. I shall add them now if you do or don't mind)
So like I said, I started off in Abbotsford. We (my parents and myself) moved to a town right outside of there. Then we moved up to Sickanee (if you know where that is or how to spell it, please let me know cause I sure don't) which is away from my dads side of the family and towards my moms. In Sickanee (pronounced sick-ah-knee) we lived with my Grandma and Grandpa. We then moved to the northern town of Fort St. John. By the time we moved to there I was five. Now if you think that is a lot of moving for a little girl just wait until I get older.
I think I shall end this here for now. And get onto what happens here later. Goodnight. Or good day (if your reading this in the middle of the day). Good time anyway.
Hollie
Apr 7, 2011
Introducing myself
Well hi there. I wasn't really going to post this right at this moment - in fact I really just wanted to take a shower and go to bed. But I had already started making everything else to do with this, so why not make a first post?
Anyway you can call me Hollie.
You are probably wondering why I am writing a blog in the first place. Good (and valid) question. Lately I have been thinking a lot of my life. In looking back I have seen where God has taken me from. As a child that was forced to move around a lot (I am neither an army brat or a pastors kid, for the record) and many times I would think, "Well God if I had stayed here I could have ....... or ......" and would question why He decided I shouldn't stay there. Only recently have I been able to figure out possible (and likely) scenarios of what could have happened if I had stayed at each place in my life. And trust me, not one of them are pretty.
So for the first little while this blog is just going to be a written version of my testimony (something I am usually loath to share, but God is very persistent in me telling it). After that I'm not sure.
If your wondering about the blogs strange name. 23 is the book of Isaiah, and then sixty one three is the reference the a verse. I like the verse for it says (paraphrase) that God will give us a garment of joy for our sorrow and beauty for our ashes. My story really is a beauty for ashes type of story (or so people tell me. Personally I think my life is pretty much average.) But I love the promise that God will take our bad and give us good.
Now I should warn you in advance. I am very blunt at times, I tend to call things as I see them. I am critical. And I can be cynical. I know I'm not perfect, and I can easily over look my faults. I will be mentioning God frequently, and if you don't like that, or are uncomfortable with that - well I'm not going to apologize. God is the reason I am here and able to tell you this. (Like I said, critical. No one has said anything and already I'm on the defensive). Please bare with me, as I am still growing and learning and have definitely not reached holiness yet.
Anyway, if you're willing to look past my faults then welcome aboard. Please keep hands feet and arms in the vehicle at all times (this will be a bumpy ride) and buckle up for your own safety. Lets see where this ride takes us.
Hollie
Anyway you can call me Hollie.
You are probably wondering why I am writing a blog in the first place. Good (and valid) question. Lately I have been thinking a lot of my life. In looking back I have seen where God has taken me from. As a child that was forced to move around a lot (I am neither an army brat or a pastors kid, for the record) and many times I would think, "Well God if I had stayed here I could have ....... or ......" and would question why He decided I shouldn't stay there. Only recently have I been able to figure out possible (and likely) scenarios of what could have happened if I had stayed at each place in my life. And trust me, not one of them are pretty.
So for the first little while this blog is just going to be a written version of my testimony (something I am usually loath to share, but God is very persistent in me telling it). After that I'm not sure.
If your wondering about the blogs strange name. 23 is the book of Isaiah, and then sixty one three is the reference the a verse. I like the verse for it says (paraphrase) that God will give us a garment of joy for our sorrow and beauty for our ashes. My story really is a beauty for ashes type of story (or so people tell me. Personally I think my life is pretty much average.) But I love the promise that God will take our bad and give us good.
Now I should warn you in advance. I am very blunt at times, I tend to call things as I see them. I am critical. And I can be cynical. I know I'm not perfect, and I can easily over look my faults. I will be mentioning God frequently, and if you don't like that, or are uncomfortable with that - well I'm not going to apologize. God is the reason I am here and able to tell you this. (Like I said, critical. No one has said anything and already I'm on the defensive). Please bare with me, as I am still growing and learning and have definitely not reached holiness yet.
Anyway, if you're willing to look past my faults then welcome aboard. Please keep hands feet and arms in the vehicle at all times (this will be a bumpy ride) and buckle up for your own safety. Lets see where this ride takes us.
Hollie
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